


Parentis Loco

by RosemarysBabysitter (TashaElizabeth)



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Community: wrestlingkink, Lactation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Pregnancy Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:10:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9251876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TashaElizabeth/pseuds/RosemarysBabysitter
Summary: Dean was protective under the best of circumstances. Since Roman had announced his pregancy, Dean’s instincts had gone into overdrive.





	1. Chapter 1

Dean was protective under the best of circumstances. Since Roman had announced his pregancy, Dean’s instincts had gone into overdrive. That was probably why he came barrelling into the locker room when the sound of Roman’s voice, tense with frustration, came out the propped open door to the loading bay. He’d been standing on the dock a moment ago and now he was rushing to Roman’s side as Roman swore and threw a shoe into the bottom of his locker.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Roman said, still sounding annoyed. 

“You sure? Contractions?”

Roman turned from his locker, an exasperated expression on his face. There was a wet spot on his Roman Empire t-shirt and he was pulling the fabric away with one hand. “No, just...this is just typical. I leaked milk all over myself.”

Roman brought one hand to the offending breast and began to knead it, wincing at the touch.

“I don’t think that’s gonna help,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows.

Roman scowled at him. “They hurt.” One hand still tight against the wet spot on his chest, he shrugged and leaned back against the locker. “I was gonna go out and interrupt Chris Jericho’s spot. He’s been talking trash about me and I thought...maybe I could at least get some taunts in, but my ring gear didn’t fit…” He motioned to his swelling belly. “So I went and bought this and then, whoa bessie.”

Dean laughed at the joke but Roman didn’t crack a smile. “What is it?” Dean asked, lowering his head to try to catch Roman’s eye.

Roman shook his head. He wasn’t exactly crying but his eyes were distant and glassy. “It's so hard to get taken seriously to begin with and then there’s the pregnancy and the unwed omega stuff and…” Roman sighed. “I’m never gonna main event again.”

“Yes, you will,” Dean said, coming forward. “Come here.”

“Why?”

Dean laughed. “My hands are cold.”

Roman glanced at him suspiciously but allowed Dean to stick his frigid fingers under Roman’s t-shirt and take hold of his swollen breasts.

“Mmm,” Roman said. “That does feel nice.” He let his eyes fall shut and took a deep breath of relief. “You smell like cigarettes,” he said, mildly disappointed.

“Don’t nag.”

Dean, feeling the skin under his fingertips cool readjusted his grip. Roman’s right breast reacted to the touch and leaked another stream of milk onto his shirt.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Dean shifted a little, reluctant to move but clearly uncomfortable about something. “Couldn’t you take the milk out?”

“I don’t have a pump yet,” Roman said dryly. “I guess I could go borrow a baby.”

“Don’t let Steph hear you say that. She’ll auction you off to the universe- wet nurse style.”

Roman laughed and Dean smiled, happy to see his tone lightened.

“I hear sometimes the alpha will do it.” Dean went on. “Helps get you started for the baby, toughens you up,” He shifted his hands again. “Also promotes, like, positive hormone production.”

Roman was willing to believe these were actually things Dean had just picked up in passing, until that last one. ‘Promoting hormone production’ sounded suspiciously like a line from one of his baby books. But Dean wouldn’t be slogging through one of those, would he?

“Well, I don’t want to get auctioned off to an alpha either.”

“I could do it,” Dean said, forced nonchalance heavy in his voice. “I mean, I’ve been up close and personal with them before and…” He turned his hands, now warmed, so that his cooler knuckles were against Roman’s nipples. “Is that weird, because it's not my baby? It’s weird.” Dean shifted his gaze. “Forget it.”

Roman looked down at his face and struggled with something, conflicting emotions working across his face. “No,” he said softly. “It’s not weird. Or I don’t care. That’d be nice.”

The stifled expression of longing on Dean’s face was churning the tension in Roman’s guts and he pulled his soiled shirt off over his head just to break the mood. Dean gasped a little, pulling his hands away to take in Roman’s body. 

“Wow,” Dean said. Roman’s breasts and stomach were swollen out of proportion to his stocky frame. The skin was pulled high and tight above the waistband of Roman’s sweatpants. Dean ran a soft hand over the curve of his belly. “Moving yet?”

“All the damn time,” Roman said. “Especially when I’m trying to sleep.”

“Troublemaker,” Dean said approvingly. “Just like his old man.” He lowered his face to Roman’s chest and, glancing up to ensure Roman was onboard, pressed his mouth against the swollen, reddened flesh. There was a flare of pain as the cold was replaced with hot and Roman brought a hand to the back of Dean’s head cautiously. 

“It’s not a like straw,” Roman said. “You have to...yes…” he hissed. Dean had already opened his mouth into an o and a hot well of emotion had started Roman up again. He was letting down milk, heavy and rich, and the easing of pressure made him sigh.

Dean lapped at Roman’s nipple with the flat of his tongue and swallowed noisily.

“Mmm, that’s good,” Roman said in a low rumble. He traced his fingers through Dean’s curls. “That’s so much better.” Dean’s smell was vivid now over the scent of the tobacco and it struck Roman high between the eyes, the pheromones working their alpha magic on his nervous system. “Do the other one.”

“Um,” Dean said, pulling back from Roman slightly and pushing a hand down his pants to adjust himself. Roman went hot all over and had to shut his eyes. Dean still wanted him. Whining and heavy and sticky with his own milk and Dean had still gotten so hard he was blushing, wanted him so bad he thought it might be wrong.

“Please.” Roman turned to put his hip between Dean’s legs, to offer his still aching breast, to put pressure against the solid line of Dean’s hardon. Dean slid a hand down the side of Roman’s belly, taking some of the extra weight with one hot hand.

Dean licked his bottom lip and then brought his face to Roman’s nipple. There was a surge of hot breath and then there it was again, that buzzing pleasure of release, the soft haze in his head and the hammering of his heart. The baby shifted roughly, like he was trying to leap towards Dean’s chest, and Roman groaned, dragged away on a tide of heavy, sweet feelings and aching want.

He came back to himself slowly, realized Dean had wet Roman’s discarded shirt with a water bottle and was carefully wiping the spit soaked and milk sticky portions of his skin. The cool fabric felt soothing and he blinked at Dean appreciatively.

“I feel a lot better.”

“You should go still. Nail that bastard.”

“Yeah,” Roman agreed. “Except I’d have to go out half naked. Very Attitude Era.”

“Hang on, I think I can help with that.” Dean turned, rummaged in his gym bag and emerged with a battered t-shirt, one of Roman’s ‘Hit Hard Hit Often’ ones from last year, worn thin with many washings.

“Why do you own my merch?”

Dean didn’t answer the question, merely held the t-shirt up for Roman to stick his head into. The shirt was small, even after he adjusted his arms and chest inside it. The hem came up high over his stomach, revealing an inch or so of skin between it and his sweatpants. The sleeves had to be rolled up over his biceps. The printing distorted over his breasts.

“It doesn’t fit.”

“No, its perfect. Wham, belly!” Dean brought his hands up to frame Roman between them. “That’s the way to go. Hey, I’m an omega. I’m pregnant. I’m a badass.” He glanced at the clock. “You better hurry if you’re going to talk your way into the ring.”

Roman pulled at the tight fabric one more time before shrugging his shoulders and looking over to the clock himself. If Dean thought it would work, who was he to complain, especially when it meant he could give Jericho a tongue lashing and keep his face fresh in the universe’s mind. “Okay,” he agreed. “Thanks, man. You’re the best.”

Dean beamed at him with a self deprecating edge and ambled over to his locker, pulling down a deodorant and pheromone blocker. Roman went to the door, hesitated. “Knock em dead,” Dean said.

“I’ll knock them out,” Roman retorted, glancing over his shoulder one last time.

“Hey,” Dean called to him, falling back on the bench with his legs splayed. “You gonna tell me who the alpha is one of these days?”

“Hell no,” Roman said emphatically and left the locker room blushing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always was helpless against requests for continuations.

Roman wasn’t sure how he’d gotten here. Maybe he was tired, dreading the long drive back to his ticky tack house in Pensacola. Maybe it was Dean’s promise that he wasn’t staying at a hotel, but a real penthouse apartment a friend of a friend was letting him borrow while they were out of town. Maybe it was just Dean. Dean finding him on a bench after the show, cozying up behind him and wrapping both arms around Roman’s neck. Roman never could say no to Dean.

But he was here. Here on a overstuffed leather sofa in the living room of some alpha couple he didn’t know, watching the lights come on in the city below him. Here was pregnant and tired and lonely and alone. Waiting for Dean to return from the diner up the street.

He arrived suddenly, a riot of noise and motion disrupting the eerily still apartment. Dean went into the kitchen, divided from the living room by a breakfast bar. Roman tried to turn to watch him, but only made it halfway in his seat. He was starting to worry that he wouldn’t be able to pull himself off the sofa by himself.

“I got enough food for about eight normal people so between the three of us we should probably have just enough.” Dean said, swinging a handful of bags onto the dining room table. He had drinks too, wedged into a cardboard holder. “I got us burgers and fries and milkshakes and all the fixings and then I also got pancakes and bacon, for the morning.” The smell of grease and salt and butter flooded in, stirring Roman’s stomach. He always seemed to be hungry these days.

Roman’s mouth watered. “Actually?”

Dean looked up at him, an easy grin on his face.

“Could I have the pancakes for dinner and the burger for breakfast? Pancakes sound really good.”

Dean nodded accommodatingly. “Sounds awesome.

Eating pancakes out of a styrofoam box balanced on one’s stomach was not the easiest of tasks and required most of Roman’s concentration. Still, he did better than Dean, who dribbled syrup down his chin and had to smear it into his mouth with his thumb.

“So, I figure it’s Trips,” he said, popping the last of his bacon into his mouth and setting the remnants of his pancake stack on the coffee table.

“What?!”

Dean shook his head to himself. “I figure it’s Hunter’s and the power couple got you in some legal thing so you can’t tell me about it.” He offered to take the now empty take out box from Roman and Roman gave it up, slightly dazed.

His guess actually wasn’t too far left of field and Hunter himself had come to see Roman not long after he’d gone public with his pregnancy. Hunter had backed Roman up against a stack of audio crates and manhandled him a little. Roman fighting back but nauseated and not sure how much stress he should put on his body. Hunter hadn’t hurt him, just smelled him, good and hard at all his pulse points and in the hollows of his ears and then Hunter had declared, as though for his own private satisfaction that the baby wasn’t his. 

“Am I right? Did Stephanie freak?”

Roman didn’t know if Stephanie even knew about that.

“It’s not Hunter’s,” he said, and then shook his head. “And I’m not going to go one by one and let you guess that way.”

“Owens.”

“Not doing...Owens?”

Dean shrugged. “And you’re embarrassed that you hate fucked him in a heat rage or something. I dunno.”

“It’s not Owens. Stop guessing. I never hate fucked anybody in a heat rage.” One of the styrofoam cups was full of orange juice and Roman took a swallow of it, washing down that sweet taste. He struggled to find a place to set it and Dean took it from him, putting it on the coffee table and then coaxing Roman back on the sofa to put his feet up into Dean’s lap. Roman’s ankles were swollen and aching and Dean seemed to know exactly where to rub to ease the pain. “Hate fuck?” he went on, tracing fingers over his stomach. “What does that even mean?”

“Like you hate someone, so much, so hard, so bad. You want to punch them in the face everytime you see them but then their heat is on or they smell too good or something so when you grab them and push them up against a wall, you end up your tongue in their mouth instead.”

Roman shook his head. “No. I never did that. I’m not sure it works that way with omegas, even in heat. You want someone you trust, you know? There’s the getting off part, yeah, but there's also all those instincts telling you to go for the safest alpha around. I mean, sometimes that means big and strong, even if you can’t stand them, but…” He shrugged.

“Yeah, you’re plenty big and strong yourself,” Dean admitted, scooting closer to him on the sofa. Roman flushed a little.

“Emphasis on big,” he said, both hands resting on his stomach. “These days anyway.”

Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I wish I could have had you once while you were heating,” he said. He was very close now and he was leaning his weight against Roman, wrapping an arm over Roman’s shoulder.

“You did,” Roman said, before he could stop himself. Dean’s face was tucked into the curve of Roman’s neck and it was easier for Roman to talk that way. He sighed. “Do you remember that time we were driving through Georgia? With the cotton fields on both sides of us.”

Dean kissed his neck. “I still think cotton looks fake.”

“It was afternoon and I started touching you while you drove. It was some massive SUV thing the rental place stuck us with. Do you remember? You pulled off on the side of the road and I took off my clothes and rode you in the driver’s seat." There was a hot feeling in Roman’s gut.“I kept banging my head,” he went on. Needless detail, but it spilled out of him in a rush, all those things he’d been remembering for months. “You put your hands there. You cradled the back of my head because I was fine with smacking my brains out against the sunroof but I couldn’t bring myself to smash your knuckles.”

Dean did this now, putting a hand into Roman’s hair and stroking his scalp.

“Anyway. We got to the show and then the trainers said I wasn’t clear to fight because I was anemic?”

“Yeah.”

“Well.” Roman swallowed. “I wasn’t anemic. I was in heat.”

Dean was chuckling. “God,” he said, pulling from Roman a little to gaze adoringly at his face. “When was that even?”

Roman kissed him hurriedly. 

Dean moaned and grabbed at Roman’s face with both hands, hot tongue wet and sloppy in Roman’s mouth and teeth working hard against Roman’s lips. His body under Roman’s hands was so hard and tense, muscles tightened in every direction, holding his limbs in control. Dean backed off the kiss reluctantly. “We don’t have to do anything,” Dean said firmly. “If you’re not feeling great. I’m not pressuring you. If you’re not comfortable...”

“Oh my god, I’m so horny I think I might actually die.”

Dean burst out laughing and Roman smiled at the delight on his face. 

Dean put Roman on his back on the big king sized bed in the apartment’s master bedroom and kissed him, first his forehead, then his lips, then his round belly, propped up on a pillow and warm to the touch. Roman, feeling beached and unwieldy on his back tried to protest and Dean just kissed down the curve of his stomach to his thigh, tugging down his track pants and kissing into the crease there.

“Let me do it,” Dean said. “I owe you one for Georgia.”

“Dean?” Roman said and Dean paused. “There’s stuff I’m not telling you.”

“That’s your business,” Dean mumbled and applied his mouth to Roman’s hot skin.

Kissing and licking and stroking and crooking two fingers inside Roman until he came, effortlessly and without warning. The rush of it winded him, made him glassy and hollow and still. 

“Come to the next show with me,” Dean asked him after. “You can do commentary or something, make some money. It’s on your way home. Just stay with me another day.”

Roman had pulled Dean close in the dark, not answering right away, trying to decide if he was going to pretend to be asleep or not. 

“I wanna take care of you,” Dean went on. “I know you don’t need it, but it's all I can think about.” Dean’s face was pressed tight against Roman’s collarbone, his words slightly muffled as he droned them into Roman’s skin

“You’re nice,” Roman said flatly.

Dean laughed. “Literally no one has ever said that about me.” 

Roman turned toward him, shifting his weight to his side. 

“It hurts again,” Roman said. “Would you…” And Dean was on him before he finished asking, mouth hot and wet under the sheet, with the just graze of his teeth against Roman’s nipple. There was less milk this time but Dean’s skin was just as hot, his hard on just as insistent against Roman’s thigh.

The baby was so quiet that night, still and sweet, just little flutters under his skin.


	3. Chapter 3

Special Guest Commentator Roman Reigns didn’t make as big of a pop as Roman hoped it might, but there was enough cheering that he didn’t feel too stupid coming down the ramp to the commentary table. He even managed to lower himself into his chair with a minimal amount of fuss.

It was Miz vs Dean, both working towards a title shot, and Roman was supposed to lend insight into the workings of Dean’s ‘out of control fight strategy.’ 

“As an old friend, can you tell us at all what you think Lunatic Fringe will be trying to do?” Tom Phillips asked him.

Roman refrained from saying that, as far as he knew, Dean Ambrose had never planned so much as a kegger in his entire life. Instead he spoutted some cliche about ‘momentum’ and ‘coming out of the gate aggressively.’

Dean’s music hit first and he came down to the ring, bouncing and punching and rolling his head on his shoulders. He spared a wink in Roman’s direction. Corey was yammering on in Roman’s ear. Dean took up a station in one corner, stretching his arms against the taunt ring ropes. Then it was the Miz’s turn.

He did the usual swagger and strut, with maybe a little gleam of something special in his eyes. But Roman was a confused as everybody else when he started to shake his head. “No!” he could hear Miz saying faintly. “No. I can’t fight you.” He brought his hands down in a Daniel Bryan style ‘NO’.

Dean turned to look at Roman. Roman raised his hands in puzzlement.

The Miz was flapping his hand for a mike and getting one. His voice suddenly boomed from the speaker system.“I can’t fight you tonight, man. I can’t. I can’t bring myself to beat an alpha when he’s down. I have a conscience!”

“Since when?!” someone in the crowd yelled and there was a scattering of laughter.

Dean’s face showed wary confusion. Miz put the microphone in his hand, took another from a nearby tech. 

Dean glanced behind himself for an oncoming attack before speaking. “What’s this about, Miz?”

The Miz looked so smug his smile might just fall off. “I’ve got to talk to you. This is in your best interest. You and your buddy Roman Reigns over there.” Miz turned to Roman, smiling, beckoned him over with a wide showy movement.

“What could he want?” Tom asked.

“Guess I better find out,” Roman said before tugging the off the headset. He couldn’t figure out a graceful way of ducking under the ropes, so he didn’t, instead climbing up the steel steps and leaning over the top turnbuckle. Someone brought him a mike.

“Okay, Miz,” he said, glancing at the crowd with shrugged shoulders. “What’s this all about?”

The Miz beamed at him. 

“Now,” he said, pitching his voice high in fake sociability. “I know you and I have never exactly seen eye to eye.”

Roman didn’t make a joke, merely straightened to his full height.

“And I know you’re in a delicate situation right now. No mate. No alpha for your pup.” Miz shook his head, tsking quietly. “I want to lend a hand, provide support for you in this trying time.”

Roman swallowed a smile. “While I appreciate your concern,” he began, his voice heavy with mock sincerity. “But I don’t think I need your help.”

“But you do!” Miz leaned conversationally against the ring ropes. “You don’t know. You’ve never had a proper alpha. You don’t know the security that comes with it, the joy. I know in my marriage.” He took a moment to beam at the thought of Maryse. Odd, Roman thought, that she wasn't at ringside for him. He must have had this planned.

“Well,” Roman said, mulling the situation. “Not all of us need a mate to fight our battles for us.”

The Miz’s smile vanished. “You’re lucky.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re lucky. Lucky Ambrose is bad at math.”

The arena went quiet, some catching on earlier than others. Roman shifted, bit his lip guiltily. The Miz was grinning.

“Because it's his, right? The baby is Dean Ambrose’s. You’ve known that all along.”

Roman didn’t slap him, telling himself he had more pride than to stoop to laying hands on someone who wouldn’t hit him back. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he didn’t just freeze cold.

“What?” Dean asked, forgetting to bring the mike to his mouth and then having to repeat himself. “What are you saying?”

The Miz turned to Dean and got right up in his face, the mike held at an angle so he could spit out the words with intention. “Buy a calendar. Get a clue.” He pointed at Roman. “Take some responsibility. Act like an alpha for one time in your miserable life.”

Dean stepped up to The Miz’s aggression, turning his head to consider his words for a long tense moment. Then he threw himself at The Miz and shoved him into the corner.

Dean’s fists were flying and the crowd was going nuts, screaming and pumping their fists at the brawl. A security guard ran up and slid into the ring, trying and failing to get between the two. The Miz went down in the corner and caught Dean’s foot in a kick, tugging it backwards so that Dean fell on his ass and then leaping on top of Dean’s prone body.

Someone took hold of Roman’s arm, started to guide him away. “Come on, honey.” Roman looked. It was Corey Graves. He’d never called Roman honey before.

He helped Roman get down the steel steps, taking his weight on an outstretched hand and pulled him back to the relative safety of the broadcast table. The security guard got The Miz up off Dean just long enough for Dean to leap to his feet and shove both of them back against the ropes. The Miz went for a forearm and missed. Dean kicked, caught The Miz’s neck. Bam, Dirty Deeds in the middle of the ring. The Miz rolled over, stunned.

The applause was deafening.

Dean got down out of the ring amongst the huddle of security guards and refs rushing to check on Miz. He looked for a long moment at Roman. Roman took a step forward and then Dean turned away, stomping back up the ramp while his music played.

Roman followed Dean, slower, and a cameraman followed Roman, ducking a few steps behind him to catch the whole debacle on tape.

He finally found Dean in the parking garage, huddled over next to a grey hatchback and punching the side mirror in anger. 

“I can’t believe,” he said, in a tone that indicated, yes, he could believe. He could easily believe. He’d actually, deep down, known all along.

Dean slammed his hand into the car window again.

“Too stupid to recognize the smell of my own freaking pup.”

He punched the window a third time and it broke under his knuckles. Roman lurched toward him.

“Dean!”

Dean backed from him, shook his head. “I get it.” he said. “If I had a choice, I wouldn’t pick me either.”

“Pick you?” Roman said, shaking his head. “It’s not about picking anyone.”

Dean shrugged. He was cradling his bleeding hand against his stomach and looking down at it, manipulating a broken knuckle back and forth. “Whatever.” 

The resigned mumble in his voice infuriated Roman and stalked up to yell in Dean’s face, ignoring the cameraman stationed in the corner. “I’m selfish, okay?” And his chest felt like it was breaking open when he admitted it. “I didn’t want to quite wrestling. If it's just me and the kid, then I’m doing the best I can to survive but if it's ours, you and me? I mean, I’m not stupid. I’m gonna end up in Vegas or Florida or wherever, joining the PTA and doing spots twice a year about ‘what it's like to be mated to that crazy wrestler guy.’ I don’t want a Total Omegas spinoff, I want to work.”

Dean set his jaw, snapping his attention back to Roman’s face. “You think I’d do that. You think I’d just go off and leave you for, whatever, 300 days a year? That I’d do that to my own kid? Never see them?”

Roman groaned. “That’s worse. Don’t you see that? You quitting? Because I couldn’t keep my cycle straight? That’s even worse.”

“Why do either of us need to quit?!” He was yelling now. Loud with confusion and angry without knowing what he was really angry about.

“Because you can’t raise a kid on the road.”

“Sure you can,” Dean said, mouth hanging open and cheek tense. “You just buy a bus. Like the Partridge Family.”

“Are you _fucking_ with me?!” 

“Like a nice bus…” Dean said, looking back down at his hand.

Roman took a deep breath, closing his eyes against Dean’s gaze and going to lean against a car. His belly felt heavy and there was a pinch in his side. He put a hand on it and rubbed. 

“Do you love me, Dean?”

Dean cringed. He glanced at the cameraman. “Rome…” He said softly, breathing heavy and looking anywhere but Roman’s face.

“If you love me, forget everything Miz said. Just forget all of it.”


End file.
